The Kestrel's Release

Kestrel release day

This is what I tried to say to the people who gathered at Remember the Maine:

“Thanks for coming. This is the last official ritual in honor of Ann. Denise told me way back in April that she thought that a bird for Ann would come to her, and one did. A male kestrel, most brightly colored of falcons. This is an adult, and in fact may already belong to an active nest nearby. Ann and I used to like watching a little sharp-shinned hawk hunt dickey birds through the foliage surrounding our bird feeders. She filled the feeders religiously, and would just watch the flitting back and forth as she ate, or sat at the kitchen table. And of course she was all about caring for injured, lost, or neglected animals.

Here’s one last Ann story. Perhaps someone can correct me on the details. Years ago, she was driving with a fellow worker from Dinosaur, and they noticed a man in a truck, with a puppy that was tied to the bumper. While they watched in disbelief, as his puppy groveled in submission before him, this guy took a bb or pellet gun, and shot his dog with it. Then the man climbed into the truck, with the puppy trying to follow him in. But the man slammed the door shut, and drove off, dragging the little dog behind him. Ann followed him to his house, driving up as the man exited his truck and walked towards his house. The little pup was lying senseless at the end of the rope. Ann said something like, “Are you going to do anything for that dog?” The man came back, grabbed the dog, and fairly threw it into the house. Ann noted his license plate, and then called the authorities. As I recall, when the case was dealt with, the puppy was taken from him, and the man was forbidden to keep any animals.

I only tell you this terrible story because it shows both the depth of Ann’s compassion for animals, as well as her determination to make a difference in this world. I know the UROMP people mourn not just the loss of their friend, but the loss of a tireless worker for animals.

I was introduced to the kestrel a few days ago. Denise put me in the mew, and this little bird flew back and forth past my head. I tried not to flinch. Obviously, he was not enjoying the experience. I know that my friend Denise was doing this on the theory that it was doing me (or the kestrel) some kind of spiritual good, and perhaps it did.

Denise said (and I hope she doesn’t mind repeating) that the kestrel had no given name. She didn’t know this bird very well, but that was okay, because she felt she didn’t know Annie that well. I told her, and repeat for all of you, that I think that was the experience of most of Ann’s friends. People were instinctively attracted to her, liked or loved her immensely, and noted again and again how much attention, respect, and compassion she gave them. She was intensely interested in the lives of others, yet she did not reveal that much about herself. Only a few people were notably successful at finding out that much about the “inner Ann”. So don’t let a feeling like that bother you. I am quite sure that she loved you all.

I came up here last night to think, and watched a lone bat that was fluttering in the twilight, nailing insects on the wing. I looked at the “Remember the Maine”, and “Pearl Harbor”, and thought about how for me, the cliff will also remind me to “Remember Annie”. I returned again with Mark this morning. I noticed a group of vultures soaring past the American flag. Soon, there was an impressive kettle of vultures, maybe 15 or more; I suspect they have a night-time colonial roost in the canyons south of here. Mark heard, then spotted, a golden eagle crying from the Witbeck pastures. Violet-green swallows (or is it white-throated swifts?) rocket around the cliffs at warp speed. If you walk the trails that lead into the riparian woods over there, you find lots of plants, lots of insects and birds, lots of life. It is a beautiful place to remember someone. Someone suggested that a memorial stone at one of the Vernal cemeteries would give Ann’s friends a place to visit, if they wished to think about her.

Well, I am designating the cliff at Remember the Maine as the official Ann Schaffer Elder Memorial Stone. The Board of Geographic Names can take it up with me personally, if they don’t like it. I know that many of us will pause to remember a great woman when we pass it. Just to be clear, I know that this little bird is not Ann, though we release him in Ann’s honor. And I don’t think her spirit will be here anymore than it is at my home, or your home, or in the Andromeda Galaxy 2 million light years away. Ann is everywhere and nowhere to me now. I trust that she is with God, and is not only at peace, but is well and happy. We hope to stand in her presence again.

And now, little bird, though my patriarchal blessing is a little rusty, I trust it will penetrate the pet carrier you are in. May you live long and prosper. Fly off and find your mate, raise up many fledglings, and may your descendents totally dominate Dry Fork Canyon for many generations. And may you find a warrior’s death in defending against a great horned owl.”

The cat carrier had to be almost upended before the little falcon would come out. He flew in a widening circle, forcing some of us to walk completely around the pavilion to keep him in view. He landed on a cottonwood at the edge of the park. Later on, he flew quickly upward, ascending to a ledge on the lower face of the cliff. That was the last we saw of him.

Afterwards, we had a nice potluck, and played music and talked while evening came on.